


thank god for pizza

by mynameis_not_cathofaragon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, First Kiss, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pizza, Silly, Sleepovers, food as a plot device, pretty much just Crack Treated Seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameis_not_cathofaragon/pseuds/mynameis_not_cathofaragon
Summary: "Grantaire shouldn’t be having as much fun with this as he is, it’s almost ridiculous. Enjolras manages to make it sound like he’s debating some serious issue, speaking eloquently and organised. His eyes are shining with passion, perhaps not as intense as always, but passion anyway, his cheeks are just slightly pink, his hair is all tousled from two hours of half-cuddling with their friends on the couch, and his sweatshirt has ridden up a bit, exposing a small sliver of tan skin, so honestly, who can blame Grantaire for what he does next? "...or; Enjolras is a heathen, Grantaire is pathetically in love, and pizza saves the day
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	thank god for pizza

**Author's Note:**

> i was watching masterchef, someone made hawaiian pizza, and then this happened. i don't know either.

Grantaire is late. 

In his defence, he had been finishing a painting he had to get done, so he knows he has a valid excuse. Still, when he opens the door of the backroom of the Musain twenty minutes after he knows it had been closed, he can’t help the slight feeling of guilt. 

Thankfully, the door opens quietly, and he’s able to slip in without fuss. Enjolras is speaking at the front, his voice strong and commanding as per usual, and there’s the not uncommon murmur around the room. He thinks about just sitting in the back, as he used to back in the day, but the tables there are occupied, and Jehan’s already seen him, waving to the empty place next to them, so he really doesn’t have a choice but to join his friends in the front. 

Of course, Enjolras –and everyone else- does see him now. He doesn’t stop his speech, he barely even glances at him, but once he seems to have made his point, he turns to Grantaire, the stern look on his face softening just a tad. 

“You came.” 

Grantaire shrugs. “Late,” he points out. “Do carry on, Apollo, I’d hate to interrupt.” As if he doesn’t chime in every time he notices a hole in one of his arguments, or just whenever he’s bored and wants to see the expressions Enjolras makes when he’s discussing something he’s passionate about. 

Enjolras looks affronted for a second, Grantaire almost thinks he’s imagined it, but then he’s turning back around and picking up where he left of. 

The meeting continues as always, Grantaire indeed getting into a _debate_ with Enjolras at one point, and before too long, the people start to leave, only the original Amis remaining. Usually, they would hang out there for a while, but today they had other plans. 

Cosette's dad was out for the weekend, something about a town where he used to have business apparently; his house was rather big, they’d actually had a few parties there before, and because he needed someone to house-sit anyway, Cosette –and Jehan and Courfeyrac- had proposed a two-day sleepover. Everyone had been on board with the idea, so after the last people have cleared from the Musain, they all head to the Fauchelevent household. 

Once there, they make themselves comfortable, changing into their pyjamas and cramming into the living room. They are a sight to behold, honestly, a bunch of twenty-something years old in all kinds of different combinations of sleepwear, ranging from Combeferre’s flannel bottoms and striped shirt, to Feuilly’s way-too-big sweater that was clearly Bahorel’s, Grantaire’s own paint-stained henley, Éponine’s “team Edward” shirt that she refuses to acknowledge, and Enjolras’ sweatshirt with the French flag on it, which he swore was a gift from Courf –something he didn’t deny nor confirm. 

Combeferre is tasked with ordering the pizza, as he’s the least likely to get distracted by the rest of them, while everyone else, minus Cosette and Joly who are looking for blankets and pillows, try to choose a movie to watch. It’s an arduous job, but they finally agree on a romcom they’ve all already seen a few minutes before the pizza arrives. 

By the time it does, they are all settled, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, and Marius, Cosette and Éponine taking the loveseats, Baz, Feuilly, Ferre, Courf –on Combeferre’s lap- and Enjolras in the couch, Jehan and Grantaire sprawled on the floor; the lights are deemed and the movie is already playing, so R doesn’t give much thought to the pizzas, simply taking a plain slice. 

They watch the movie in anything but silence. Bahorel keeps making terrible puns, Jehan rants about missed opportunities in the cinematography, Combeferre and Joly correct several medical inaccuracies, Musichetta complains about the stupid situations that could be solved with some communication, Éponine gets up once to go for a smoke at a particularly slow part, Feuilly and Bossuet keep a steady commentary, and Enjolras rants about the inherent sexism and heteronormativity of romcoms. Grantaire lives for nights like this, and of course he argues with Enjolras, even if he kind of agrees with him. 

Really, he shouldn’t think that a grown man is cute when complaining about lack of diversity in romcoms, but he can’t help it, not when he sees how Enjolras’ face fucking lightens up. Well, in all honesty, there are few things their fearless leader does that R doesn’t find at least a tad endearing; he’s pathetically in love, but hey, at least he’s self-aware. 

When the movie ends and Marius goes to turn on the lights again, though, Grantaire makes a discovery. There, not more than a few feet away from him, on the coffee table, is a Hawaiian pizza, aka, the worst invention of humankind, in his humble opinion. He's about to make some comment about it, probably ask who actually likes it, when he notices Enjolras’ plate. 

“No fucking way.” He openly stares at it, the half-eaten slice topped with pineapple both the funniest and most horrifying thing he’s seen. 

Enjolras glares at him. “What.” 

“C’mon, Apollo, you can’t be serious.” 

He just sighs, obviously annoyed. “Please, do not say what I think you will.” 

Grantaire can’t help his grin. “So you agree that it’s a dumb argument-” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“-and that you are ridiculous for eating pineapple pizza.” 

Enjolras’ glare intensifies, and he looks just like he always does whenever he’s about to defend his posture even if it’s the last thing he’ll do. Around them, their friends are either rolling their eyes or laughing at them, but Grantaire’s focused on Enjolras, preparing for the argument that’s about to come. 

And come it does. Enjolras speaks for like five minutes about “pizza snobbism”, with a expression too serious for the topic, but then again, he never does anything by halves. Grantaire retorts in kind, and they argue about pizza for no less than twenty minutes, by which point everyone else has moved to do something else. 

Grantaire shouldn’t be having as much fun with this as he is, it’s almost ridiculous. Enjolras manages to make it sound like he’s debating some serious issue, speaking eloquently and organised. His eyes are shining with passion, perhaps not as intense as always, but passion anyway, his cheeks are just slightly pink, his hair is all tousled from two hours of half-cuddling with their friends on the couch, and his sweatshirt has ridden up a bit, exposing a small sliver of tan skin, so honestly, who can blame Grantaire for what he does next? 

“God, I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” he blurts out, almost dreamily. 

It takes a few seconds for his words to fully sink in, but when they do, the silence is deafening. Everyone stops what they were doing, turning to stare at them open-mouthed. Enjolras stops talking, too, looking at him with wide eyes, his lips parted. Grantaire feels the blood rushing to his face, his own eyes widening, too. 

“ _Fuck_.” A pause. “Fuck, I- god, I'm- fuck-” 

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s all but running outside. Thankfully, the door to the backyard isn’t too far away, so after some excruciating seconds he’s out of there. 

The night air hits him as soon as he steps out, and he shivers, only then noticing that he’s wearing nothing but a shirt. Still, he doesn’t consider going back for a second, instead leaning against a wall, as he lets his face fall into his hands. 

He swears under his breath, cursing himself for letting those words slip. He'd never intended to tell Enjolras that he loves him, and much less in a room full of their friends! He can’t pass it as a drunken mistake, seeing as there wasn’t any alcohol, and he can’t even say it was a friendly “I love you”, as he had quite literally said “I am in love with you”. 

God, why did he have to be so careless? Now that they’ve finally fallen into a sort of easy friendship, he had to go and fuck it up by confessing his feelings, and because of pizza, no less. Somewhere, some divine entity is laughing at him, he’s sure. 

He's too busy mourning his relationship with Enjolras to even hear the footsteps until someone’s gently touching his arm. He jerks his head up, staggering backwards only to hit the wall behind him when he comes face to face with the fearless leader himself. 

It's dark outside, but Enjolras is close enough that Grantaire can see him well enough. Still, he cannot decipher the expression on his face, which terrifies him, as he doesn’t know what to expect. His response, naturally, is to start talking. 

Well, it is less of talking and more of stumbling over his words, apologies mixed with nonsense, his voice a tad higher than normal. He's moving his hands, too, gesturing and brushing his hair back. 

“-really sorry, I- I don’t know what happened. I promise I won’t mention it again-” 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras grabs his wrists, strong enough to keep them from moving, but somehow still gentle. He's looking at him with a weird mix of exasperation and... fondness? “Stop talking,” he asks, his voice low. 

And really, Grantaire never could deny him anything, so he shuts his mouth, breathless; he’s tempted to avert his gaze, but can’t bring himself to do it. Their faces are even closer now, just a few inches separating them, which Grantaire isn’t sure how it happened. 

“Do you love me?” Enjolras asks, plain and simple, as he were asking him the time instead of the confirmation of his feelings. 

Grantaire, being Grantaire, tries to divert the question, “Why, of course, Apollo! I love you, I love Éponine, I love Feuilly-” 

Enjolras isn’t buying it, squeezing his hands a little, a frown beginning to form on his forehead as he cuts him, “Are you _in love_ with me?” 

There really is no use denying it now, so he barely hesitates before giving in, his voice steadier than he’d thought it would be. “Yes.” 

The frown disappears, instead taking place an ever-growing smile. Despite the feeling of nausea this whole situation had brought him, Grantaire can’t help a smile of his own; he’s not sure why Enjolras suddenly looks so happy, but he feels giddy with joy whenever he sees him smile an actual smile. He's pathetically in love, ok? We've been over this already. 

But then some seconds pass and Enjolras still hasn’t said anything, and the uneasiness slowly returns. Grantaire's not sure where he’s standing, afraid to let himself hope, but still not outright rejected. 

Hesitantly, he asks, “Ehh, Enjolras?” 

This seems to do the trick, and Enjolras is suddenly focused again, and although the smile stays there, he looks down. “Right, sorry”, he mutters. A pause. “Oh, I love you, as well.” 

Grantaire doesn’t think he’s heard correctly. “You what?” 

Enjolras meets his eyes again, vulnerability, hope, _l_ _ove,_ clear as day in his eyes. Grantaire is taken aback, suddenly very confused. 

“I love you, too, romantically,” he repeats. 

“But- but, how?” 

Enjolras frowns. “How what?” 

Grantaire opens and closes his mouth a few times. “We’ve barely become friends! You despised me!” 

Enjolras shakes his head. “You were -are- insufferable, but I never hated you.” A pause. “Quite the contrary.” He averts his gaze for a moment again, fiddling with his hands. “I thought you hated me until recently, which is why I hadn’t said anything.” 

Grantaire starts laughing almost hysterically. And really, is there any other way to react? The man he’s been in love for longer than he cares to admit is confessing to loving him as well, he’s allowed some hysteria. 

He only stops, albeit not easily, because of the look on Enjolras’ face. The same Enjolras he loves and who apparently loves him back. 

Enjolras loves him back. 

_Fuck, Enjolras loves him back._

_“_ You really love me back?” He asks, breathless. 

The look on Enjolras’ face softens. “Yes, I do.” 

This time, the laughter is soft, still unbelieving, but now Enjolras is smiling too. He rests their foreheads together, basking in the warmth his Apollo seems to irradiate, and in the fact that _he loves him back_. 

He's not sure who moves first, but somehow they are kissing. It's soft, gentle, just a touch of lips, really. Enjolras tastes like fucking pineapple pizza, and R sighs against the kiss, his hands finding their way around Enjolras’ neck, whose hands are cradling his face. The thought of the pineapple pizza catches onto his brain, and Grantaire can’t help a small chuckle. 

Enjolras pulls away, just enough so that they can look at each other, a questioning look on his face. 

He smiles sheepishly. “Just thinking of how that monstrosity you call pizza got us here.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “It’s the stigma and you know it, shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

Enjolras wastes no time, kissing him again. It is slightly more intense this time, Grantaire resting against the wall, but still sweet and innocent enough. They’ll have time to kick it up a notch later, right now this is more than enough. 

They kiss languidly for a few more minutes, before Grantaire finds himself shivering again. Enjolras, of course, notices, and quickly changes the kissing for a hug. 

“You must be freezing, let’s go back,” he mutters against his hair. 

Grantaire makes a noncommittal sound, before snuggling closer to his boyfriend ( _are they boyfriends?_ ) and sighing contently. In a moment, they’ll go back inside, hand in hand, smiling like the lovesick idiots they now know they both are, their friends will congratulate them and laugh at them, they will spend the rest of the weekend being disgustingly cute, and come Monday they’ll have a talk to clear out everything that needs to be clear out; some things will change, most will not, but it’ll be fine, they’ll be fine. 

Now, though, Grantaire is more than happy simply hugging Enjolras, the man he loves and that loves him back, and who’s also holding him tightly. 

**Author's Note:**

> what romcom involves medical inaccuracies, missed cinematography opportunities, miscommunication and slow parts, you may ask? i have absolutely no fucking clue. i couldn't decide what they were watching, so i tried to make it kinda generic lol  
> also, full disclosure, enjolras is wrong, pineapple pizza is a mistake, and if you like it, i don't trust you


End file.
